Again, 2014, not a great year. All round, a difficult year. A lot of crying in 2014. A lot of anxiety. But I have sworn to reduce my complaining in 2015 so we won’t go there…until my resolution is starting to look lacklustre in a few days.

Still, it was a year with some significant highlights, which I will now present for your reading pleasure.

January:Was thrilled to get a new job. Had a little birthday party and 17 people showed up. Explored Inverness and hunted the lake for Nessie. Sat in a bookshop with a massive fireplace in it.

February:Had 3 separate visits from friends from home. Saw Sleepless in Seattle at the cinema. Heard a theological lecture on the evils of meat consumption and drastically reduced meat intake. Had a long weekend in Ireland between old job and new, by myself, catching up with close friends.

March:Went home for a baptism. Enjoyed a prosecco-fuelled 40th birthday party with karaoke.

April:I probably shouldn’t write in the highlights section of this blog post the details of how bad a month this was. However in the midst of all the many awfulnesses, a wonderful friend came for the weekend. That was great.

May:
We once more travelled home for a baptism: this time our goddaughter’s. Then we came back and had a fabulously camp EUROVISION PARTY with friends from home.

June:
We had 3 dear friends come to stay for a long weekend of summertime fun.

July:
We travelled to Edinburgh to see a Manchester City football match, with some good Aberdonian buddies.

August:
We went to our first Scottish wedding. I don’t know how authentic a ‘Scottish’ experience it was as the people who got married were Irish and English. We also had dinner one night with Scottish neighbours in our building. That felt like a big win, seeing as how cold and unfriendly people in Aberdeen can be.

September:
Went on amazing honeymoon trip to Thailand.

October:
Had a great friend visit for a weekend, and then another pair of lovely friends another weekend, and the husband-unit got to organise a conference and meet his theological hero.

November:
Had thanksgiving dinner with American friends, and I watched my oldest friend get married back in Ireland to a fantastic man. Got to watch the Late Late Toy Show with my nieces and nephews.

December:
Christmas parties. A weekend in Edinburgh at the Christmas markets. Christmas Day with dear friends in Aberdeen and New Year with family in Ireland. Watched an Irish friend marry a beautiful woman from Venezuela and got to participate in their wedding service. Got some kick ass presents.

Hrm. That rather makes it look like a good year, doesn’t it? Good thing I don’t have a Facebook account, or people would get the wrong idea altogether.

Look: I don’t care what anyone says – there is no way you could tell this guy has a hairpiece made of noodles that turned out badly when someone was cooking them one night for dinner. Nope. 100% all natural hair.

If I thought choosing four books was hard? Well that ain’t nothin’ on choosing two songs out of all the many songs that have moved me. I don’t know how to make these choices. It would have been much easier to have ten songs and two secrets, although that probably would have been much less interesting for you the reader.

This whole ten-series thing is very ego-centric, so I hope you’ll forgive an indulgence where I talk about two songs that I love that I’ve sang at special moments. Having said that, I did not write the songs so can take absolutely no credit. Your relationship to a song changes when you participate in it rather than just listening. Its story becomes a bit of your story.

1. She Moved Through the Fair

Like many others, this song has been a party piece of mine for years. I have one or two friends who love to hear it and always ask me to sing it, and I love to oblige. I love the vocal trills and the sad storytelling and the lilt and the invitation to everyone present to join in at the key moment – it will not be long, love, til our wedding day. It’s a folk funeral ballad, based on an old poem altered by Padraic Colum, and sung to a traditional medieval tune, popular with travellers, and often mistakenly sung at weddings up and down the country.

One very sad day, a strange funeral day, I somehow found myself on the beautiful stage of the round auditorium of Old Cabell Hall in the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, a thousand seats rising up and around me, singing this song through tears as the faculty bluegrass band strummed behind me. The audience was just a handful friends.

This is an apocalyptic or eschatological song – in other words, a song about the end of the world. Its focus is the child who blows the trumpet that signifies the renewal of all things… in short, the hope of the Christian.

I’ve been asked to sing at over a dozen weddings over the years but this is the one that stands out in my mind. The bride and groom requested it for the church service, and I had the great privilege and pleasure of singing under the direction and guidance of the immensely talented Craig Skene and his band and the hired string quartet. The song itself is a carefully crafted work of art and their performance, and mine I suppose, was such that the whole congregation burst into spontaneous applause at the end (if you’re not a regular at church, applause during liturgy is very unusual). Spine tingling – and a complete privilege to be part of it. Oh to write a song that good!

The actual performance itself was kindly recorded by someone in the third row with their phone, but the phone couldn’t capture it fully and as a result it’s fuzzy and distorted. But here it is in any case; you get the idea.

In the same way that a retweet isn’t an endorsement, featuring in this post is not necessarily a recommendation. Three memorable ones of the hundreds and hundreds:

1. The Exorcist. When I was fifteen this movie was re-released in the cinema in Ireland. I was absolutely desperate to see it. As a kid I was quite afraid of my parents so did not tend to step out of line or do naughty things very often. On this occasion, however, myself and my buddy S broke all the rules by sneaking out of her parents house at night while they were out and we were supposed to be in, to take the 66 bus into Dublin city centre and watch this movie in the Savoy cinema on O’Connell Street. Well. We were rightly shitting ourselves. It was a horrifying ordeal that was only partly enjoyable at the time and not at all enjoyable later on. We screamed and clutched at each other and trembled all the way home. I had flashbacks for years!

2. Dancer in the Dark. I have always loved Bjork and found her a bit mad and mesmerising. When I saw her in this movie I was simultaneously transfixed and all at once filled with dread at the appalling injustice suffered by her character Selma, who is charged with a horrific crime that she was not responsible for and sentenced accordingly. I sat on the floor of the living room of my rented student accommodation at the time and cried for a good twenty minutes after it was over. I think that was the beginning of me choosing my movies more carefully. Not that I wish that I had not seen it, but the misery of it stayed with me for a long time after I stopped crying. It showed me my own sensitivity and I have not been as willing to watch just any old thing since then. I am more discerning because it’s just not practical to go into mourning after watching a movie and find yourself not fully able to do your job or string a coherent sentence together.

3. High Fidelity. Based on the novel by Nick Hornby, but immeasurably improved by being set in the US instead of in the UK, I include this movie because it is a tonic on a sad day, and there are quite a few of those. Everyone should watch it at least once.

Today has been a difficult day. I had some bad news after which I found myself traipsing the streets looking for work, attending a dismal employment fair and sitting through tedious meetings with recruitment agencies. It culminated in me sitting on a bench and temporarily crying my eyes out. I came home, took off my shoes and made gambas pil pil and now, to quote Maria, I don’t feel so bad.

1. Gambas pil pil. This is the most spectacularly delicious and soul-soothing Spanish dish that ever took 10 minutes to prepare. Take a handful of raw prawns per person, peeled and de-veined. Pat them dry. Heat a very generous glug of olive oil (not extra virgin; that is better eaten raw) in a pan and add plenty of chopped red chillis and some crushed garlic (for today’s lunch, I used 4 cloves of garlic and 1 medium-heat red chilli for two hungry adults). Season with sea salt and ground black pepper and don’t let the garlic and chilli brown or burn. Toss in your raw prawns and cook until curled and pink, just a couple of minutes will do it. Divide the prawns between two warm bowls and drizzle the delicious spicy garlicky oil over the fish. Serve sizzling hot with warm crusty bread. The fresher the prawns, the better this will taste.

2. When I was 21 I visited Capetown and the surrounding areas, on a trip focused on learning about the culture. I spent a few weeks exploring and tasting and adventuring led by a pair of South African hosts, who are friends of mine. The food was a revelation – schnook on the barbecue, boerewors sausage, roasted root vegetables, fresh ginger beer, ‘chocolate’ porridge, delicious stews made from the cheapest cuts of meat. I ate in homes, restaurants and shanty town cafes. In the poorer places what was lacking in choice was more than compensated for in flavour. One meal stands out in my mind. I’d been to visit a community centre in Khayelitsha – you might have heard of this place as it is one of South Africa’s largest and most notorious shanty towns. The community centre was a grass roots initiative to provide free childcare and nutrition to children in the area so that their parent or carer (often an orphaned sibling who was still a child themselves) could earn something to feed them. Myself and my friends had the privilege of a meal at the centre, prepared by the ‘Mamas’ – a team of older women who worked there. My plate had three items on it: a rich meat-on-the-bone stew, milli-pop (a cornmeal staple) and a pile of delicious cooked greens. I remember sitting there savouring this feast when one of the Mamas sat next to me. She asked me how I liked it. I said it was incredible. She leaned in and said to me, her eyes twinkling, “I want to tell you a secret. Those greens you are eating…the farmers don’t know they are good to eat. They leave them behind, and we go after them and pick them up.”

3. The crisp sandwich. Two slices of delicious fresh white Brennans bread, batch optional, buttered generously with yellow Irish butter, with a packet of King cheese and onion crisps as the filling. Best eaten with a big glass of ice cold milk, or on a very cold day, a cup of strong milky Barry’s tea.

4. Chicken biriyani. I don’t even like this dish. It is loads of bother and work and the end result just doesn’t do it for me. But for the Husband Unit, this is quite literally perfect food. I make it for him occasionally, saving it for special occasions or when he’s very sad. It never loses its power to cheer and comfort him.

5. You might think it corny or obligatory for a Christian to write this, and if so I apologise. But it is true that the one food that nourishes me above all others is Eucharist. I have experienced God’s presence in tangible ways when partaking in this sacrament, at unlikely times and in unlikely places. The experience is as though my mind is illuminated and it is by this light that I can see other things. As Augustine said, ordinary food is consumed and becomes part of which consumes it. But in the Eucharist, we consume God, and become part of that which we consume. It’s a mystery and I don’t pretend to understand it. But I consider it true. Soul food.

1. Dublin. It’s my town. I was born there and I lived there until I was 17. I’ve been trying to get back there ever since. When we return to the republic in 2019 we are settling in Dublin, hopefully for good. I love it. I love its disordered buildings and the rawness right there in front of you on the street. I love the mix of people, the tangle of nationalities. I love Moore Street with its fresh fish still flapping and feisty women selling you fruit as did their mothers and grandmothers; its cafes and junky phone repair stores. I love the hum in the streets. I love how awake it is, all the time. I love the lights at Christmas, the tinsel and bustle. I love its markets – from the hipster fleas to the antiques and rubbish to the farmer’s produce to the artisan craft. I love the eurosaver stores, the restaurants, the good humour with strangers. I love the marches, parades and protests. I love its coffee culture and its pub scene. I love the people who paint on the pavement. I love the city’s extravagant history. I love the live music everywhere, the street sculpture, the museums. I like the cobbled streets and wide-paved streets and the walking tours. I like the cheese and the hand-made chocolate and the open-top bus and the Liffey river cruise. I love the macabre edge: the storytelling, the Ghost bus, the folklore. I love how it is a real place and that as soon as the sun comes out everybody strips off and soaks up every drop of heat and light. I love how Dubliners turn out for everything: nothing is a flop – they oblige at every festival, every market, every free show and workshop. I love the theatres, from the huge performances to the fringe shorts. I love its cinemas; something for every taste. I love the activism and the projects and the commitment. I love that you can always get a taxi. I love the Luas. I love the Nitelink. I love the train stations and the bus stops. I love its parks and nooks and crannies of green. I love its comedians and the cheap comedy shows. I love the old ladies who tell me I remind them of their daughters. I love its beaches and its fish and chips. I love its apartments and its flats and its ramshackle houses with the bathrooms that you have to walk through the kitchen to reach. I love the busking. I love the street performers and the human statues and the poets who self-publish and sell their work on the street. I love the stalls on O’Connell Bridge and the ability to find a cosy spot at any moment. There are things about it that I don’t love, but I don’t love those things only because they are destructive to a city and a people that I love.

2. Around my kitchen table. I’ve lived in a few places and I haven’t always had the same kitchen or the same table. In fact the kitchen in my current flat is so small there’s no chance of sitting round anything or sitting at all. In fact the flat had no table when we moved in, so we bought a table and four chairs and squeezed it into the living room, because what kind of home doesn’t have a table in it? So yes, around my kitchen table. Over the years there has been some serious rejoicing and some serious mourning done round that table with neighbours, family and friends. It’s the heart of any home: endless cups of tea and bowls of soup and boards of cheese and grapes and great vats of beef stew have been consumed at that table – nourishment not just in the food but of course in the company too.

3. Malta, and its Hilton Hotel. A few years ago the husband unit broke both of his arms in two consecutive accidents. What followed was a lot of surgery and recuperation and six weeks when he could not wipe his own bottom. During those six weeks we completely missed out on Christmas and on my dear friend’s wedding in Texas, where I was to be bridesmaid. We recouped some of the travel costs (although we lost our flights) and booked a hasty trip to St. Julian’s in Malta for five nights. What ensued was the best holiday of our lives. Every last detail was perfect. We were collected from the airport by the hotel chauffeur and were in the Hilton within twenty minutes of landing. We were greeted with complimentary cool drinks which we enjoyed while our bags were taken to our room. Our room had a view of the marina and boasted the most comfortable bed I’ve perhaps ever slept in. We spent our days exploring the island on foot and by boat, eating local delicacies of rabbit stew and drinking fine wine. We ate in a restaurant that had a river running through it full of live carp. Everyone we met was gracious, kind and courteous. The sun shone on us for five glorious winter days and we felt like honeymooners. (Our actual honeymoon having been several years previous, was an unmitigated disaster, the misery from which we still have not fully recovered. But that’s a tale of woe and warning for another day.)

4. I say this tentatively…Aberdeen. Years ago I remember reading a quote from St. Theresa who was grappling with her faith. She said, God I don’t love you. I don’t want to love you. But I want to want to love you. Not to compare Aberdeen to God, but that sums up how I am feeling. I don’t love this city and in fact, I don’t want to. Maybe I am afraid I will grow attached to it only to be forced somewhere else in three years’ time. But in a way I do want to want to love it. It does have things going for it, this place. There is a very wild ocean that roars and is exhilarating. The worse the weather, the more thrilling it is. There are huge hidden parks that alternate between natural forest and grassland, and manicured lawns spilling their guts with beautiful flowers of every colour. It has fortified castles and a salt-smelling harbour and most importantly it offers an opportunity for my weary husband unit to expand his thinking and talents in a community that is both academically brilliant and socially vibrant. Aberdeen we’ll get there.

5. Prison. I’ve never been locked up in one (well actually, I have, but I have never been convicted of a sentence and served time in jail). But I have had the privilege of sharing in the lives of a lot of people who live in prison. More than this: I have met with God there – in sacrament and in person and in liturgy and in tears and laughter in sterile hallways and poky offices and bare wooden chapel pews.

6. The dole queue. No, I don’t love it. But it has been a significant place of learning for me. It has certainly been a leveller. My five year struggle to secure a permanent job, which ultimately failed, gave me an opportunity to reconsider my identity. I literally cried with distress for the first few years of having nothing meaningful to do. Being cut off from opportunities and money and the important social interaction that comes with working, only to get a three month placement here and a six month placement there, each one snipped just as I was getting comfortable, taught me something about myself: I am not what I do for a living. If my meaning comes from what I do or what I earn, then what message of hope do I have for those who cannot work? My worth can’t be counted by Anglo or measured in the GDP. I’m pricey, yo.

1. To not want so much. When I was a teenager and I first opened a copy of the New Testament for myself, I remember reading the letters of one of the authors – a guy called Paul of Tarsus – who was writing to a community of Christians in Phillipi; friends of his. He was in prison at the time and bound in chains, for the crime of heresy – teaching something different to the law, and bringing filthy Greeks into the Jewish temple. He didn’t strike me as fanatical or delusional, and yet despite his chains he communicated this intense joy and peace. Reading it almost stung me. I am petulant, dissatisfied and selfish and I live in freedom and luxury. Since then I have wanted to know that peace, regardless of circumstances. I have tasted it occasionally, but I’m after a permanent fix if anyone can help me out.

2. To work in a paid position as a prison chaplain or to be able to work full time in a prison on a voluntary basis and be funded by a rich husband. I suppose what I want is to be able to do this work that I enjoy and feel that I am good at and that I feel is crucial to society and still be able to pay rent and bills. Failing this I want good, meaningful work of any kind that stretches me a little. I would also love to have a period of time free from money worries and be in a position to be financially generous to others.

3. To put this endless saga of not being able to drive properly behind me. HALP.

4. To have full health and recovery from Eating Distress. This is a complex condition that has gripped me for many years and from which I am almost fully recovered, but not yet completely free. Recovery takes a lot of time, work and commitment and in difficult times it is often the first thing to slide.

5. To improve in my ability to self-care. This is linked with the previous want but not exclusive to it. I have become more aware of my values and emotional, spiritual and mental health needs, but this does not always lead to positive action. I’d like to develop healthier, happier routines that are fulfilling and don’t involve four consecutive hours sitting at a computer hitting refresh on Twitter. I’d also like to become better at playing the guitar (I would consider playing the guitar to be self-care) and take up yoga. In fact I have taken steps towards both of these things only this week.

6. To become one of those wise old ladies that everyone looks up to for home-spun advice and tea and sympathy. That I want to become this kind of excludes me from ever achieving it. Sigh.

7. To become a better student. Despite having a load of pointless letters after my name I have kicked and screamed my way unwillingly through rivers of assignments and exams and assessments. I am a lazy-ass shortcut student who would rather read the cliffnotes than the actual textbook. What I am really saying is that I would like to learn the virtue of self-discipline. I am not a natural academic but really, who is? It’s 5% talent, 95% hard work. Ah feck it, this is boring. Let’s just play Hungry Hungry Hippos.